The Un-naming of the “You-know-what”

The Un-naming of Faust”

As was said in Shakespeare’s works:
“It’s Greek to me,” like Ξ
but nomenclature is
a Blessing Strange ( 福奇 )

For Sino-name-dropping it is a
Blessing – Strange virus
funded by 福奇

Indeed for Sino-hegemony
it’s been a strange blessing for
the weakening of the West

The overlords of Wuhan
were a nest of vipers élan
happy for a blessing strange.

And like improvised explosive rhetorical devices
hidden on the road and belt commerce sites
they were happy to bite

A Random Love

A Random Love

I don’t know anything about coping,
I’m just hoping you’re hopping to
cop a plea for me in a vague space
just because I have randomly
found you wanting,
maybe wanting me
with my random wisdom
that says I could love you
with a silly quip
that would make you smile, and
I so much want to laugh, as if
I could be your comedian of sorrow
who would grasp the
preposterousness of the rhinoceros
whose horniness for love we share.

All the Metaphors Are Dead (Draft 1)

This is a wild random start. I don’t know how far this can go, if at all. Actually it’s had a lot of quick on the spot editing and rearranging done too fast to record as drafts. So this I suppose isn’t really draft 1 but many 5 minor drafts. Adding the name was a last minute addition — the all “you” ‘s was a little vague and impersonal.

All the Metaphors Are Dead

What’s to be done, Emily Luna
if all the metaphors are dead?

You are the prettiest scientist I know.

I dare not compare thee-you
to a flower or say thee-you
are a star or pull the tides of love
like the moon or
shine like my sun, because

The twentieth century
and before has
taken the flowers,
the trees, the moon
the tunes and the stars

Shakespeare and their
ilk and elk have
horned out
all the dilemma horns.

Only the ancients
in their ignorance of science
could have thought heaven had
a location among the stars, but
there’s only other planets
with their own
Hollywood studios
and lots

Maybe, a guy
on a primitive planet
somewhere
thinks Heaven is
located near
our star that
we call the Sun
(I wonder what
he calls his star)

Anyway,
fly me to your heart
so I will circulate
to reach your soul
though it could be
beyond
your pretty brain I’m told
(saw it in a cat scan photo
and I know you like the cats,
know you like your dog star)

So, Emily Luna
you light me up
when I am
a dark matter

You are my
light energy
that drives me
searching for
my heaven, but
contrariwise

I have found
my heaven
in you.

See Homonym, Will Travel

An Old See-Sea Saw

I have a theory.

Writing you while
missing you here
has been a love lemma,
a homonym dilemma:

I want to tell you
a homonym joke
but it’s in the telling

Y’see can’t write it —
just sounds fishy and
sounds like “c”

But, just mind sailing
on an ocean of love, um

I’m on a “c”-food diet

C note a telling thing
losing voice, joking that
I’m on a “c”-food diet

everything I see I eat
except seafood, Y not

sail home
do tell
see?

Masking of the Child (The Masked Child 2)

Masking of the Child


It had been without din
a glorious start for all
but the tall Brave Child.

Critical morning theory
in Randi’s dreary class
started the day
with a hazy salute:

“We pledge allegiance to the ping pong
of the united oppressed of America, and
to the proletariat for which it stands,
one iniquity
under Jin, with de-funding
and labels for all

Out of many, Randi reigns
” ‘Randi magister e pluribus unum imperare’ “.

Attention! Quiet!
How much is two plus two?
You child, don’t fret!

It is as many as we see these:
Mao, Fidel, Marx, and Xi.

Next!
How does
two plus two equal five?
You in the back, look alive!

It is the quintessence of Marxism.

The Brave Child rose up
poof — sans mask:

Hey Magister,
are you six feet away?

Wha’thuh?
Monster! cover your face!

The Brave Child
stuck out his ten foot
spiked tongue, and
wrung the teacher’s neck

Snow White in tune
took to the front of the room:

Aliens and dwarfs don’t wear masks!

With finesse
they all kissed
and made up

The Masked Child (Draft 1)

The Masked Child

Critical morning
in Randi’s class,
starting the day
with a flag salute:

“We pledge allegiance to the ping pong
of the united oppressed of America, and
to the proletariat for which it stands,
one iniquity
under Jin:

‘ e pluribus unus Randi magister regnat ‘ “.

Attention! Quiet!
How much is two plus two?
You child!

It is as many as
Mao, Fidel, Marx, and Xi.

Next!
How does
two plus two equal five?
You in the back!

It is the quintessence of Marxism.

The Brave Child stood up
removing the mask:

Magister,
Are you six feet away?

The Brave Child
stuck out his ten foot
spiked tongue, and
wrapped it around
the teacher’s neck

Snow White
took to the front of the room:

Aliens and dwarfs don’t wear masks!

The Four Nuppets of the Apocalypse

[The Children’s Crusade to the North Pole (Draft 3)]

Behold, the feathers of truth descend:
the four Nuppets of the Apocalypse
have arrived as foretold and
Huge Bird walks among us, but
know ye the schools are defiled,
the files are closed in haste. Leave
as the leaves have fallen.

Leave ye from the branches
though the ground is noisome
and you fear the reign of feathers

Leave from pestilence
to join our march

I say to you in earnest:
Give your leave
to walk with me
to our secret place

Do not be afraid;
Huge Bird can see
‘the snares of the fowler’

Let us gather in common cause:
I pray you follow me here to
sing with me for wanderlust but
should you not be present here,
be at the Ward Hunt Island retreat

I’m thirteen but so what: God has
given me the powers of prophesy, and
I will lead you to the Jerusalemma
at the North Pole throne fortress

Do not be afraid; we have
Mr. Smith our science teacher,
a captive for our just cause.

We have lured that devil away with
the best black market vaccine, and
we agree to release his mistress
and say yea verily to the sky,
she shall sin no more though
she is stoned on pot and high

Mr. Smith is now in a cage
and we can engage him double
along the way to Jerusalemma.

Glaciers are melting, he informs us
ergo, we apprehend it will be warm.

But hey kids, God will strike him down
if he fails to well teach us the way.

But the signs will be clear —
and when we are near the North pole, dears
a polar bear will growl with hunger

but even deer shall have no fear, for we will
summon Mr. Smith to leave his cage and he,
not faithful enough to trample a dragon,
will bear witness to sacrifice and suffer for us
as the science says bears will do.

The bear will be most grateful and
share seven seals from his snacks.

These seals will become many and
we will not be hungry.

Come ye all to Ward Hunt Island
but fear not expanse of ice or snow,
for carbon’s ghost will warm us

I tell you now my vision:
with ash and fire from the sky,
the ice will turn into stone, and
we shall walk to the North Pole.

Join our crusade, and
bring a teacher in a cage.

Let us pray
for the promised land
of milk and windmills

Science says
do this.

How’s Everyone Doing?

To do or to dew?
That is the questionable.

I’m not doing anyone at this moment in thyme.
There is thyme for oregano and time for love,
only heaven knows when
the day is like a cheery cherry, covered in
elegant chocolate that feeds
the taste buds of do’s and don’t’s
that toot a horn that calls out “do” for
fools and others who wait for
anything that is not done for.

Forlorn to do, forlorn to not, for
she is gone like a cherry pie
stolen in the night with
only the pie pan playing like a tambourine.

Wow Babe

Turning around
you’re looking at me yeah

Turning around
I love you

Smiling yeah,
I see you

Oh you’re looking

Ha, I know it
turning around you love me

Shout shout
I’ve got no doubt

Dance babe
hey yeah oh

Hay yeah baby cute love
turning around I love you

Hey yeah I see you
Hey yeah you forgive me

Got you to laugh again —
Dance!
I love you.

hey hey hey hey
kiss